


Delightful Things

by ColebaltBlue



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Blockade Duty, Gen, Hotspur Husbands, Unresolved Sexual Tension, brest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 22:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColebaltBlue/pseuds/ColebaltBlue
Summary: "Hornblower spent those delightful months doing delightful things until he felt he could not do them any longer..."  - A moment in the sun between two idiots in love.





	Delightful Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haruspeks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haruspeks/gifts).



> It was just a whim that made me look at the Yuletide Madness prompts and search for Hornblower prompts. I'm so very glad I did. I hope you are too, Haruspeks.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my beta, Sanguinity.

The heat of the summer sun beat down on the deck of the Hotspur. Horatio Hornblower had increased his deck pump baths to daily and happily allowed any other member of the crew to indulge themselves as well if they could compel those manning the pumps to keep at it. Bush rarely joined in, but this afternoon he had consented to strip and be blasted by the cold refreshing salt water spray of the pump. He good naturedly tolerated the jeers from the young gentlemen and the cheers from the men as he turned fore and aft. 

Horatio handed his lieutenant a towel, tempted for a moment to snap it at Bush's bare thighs as if they were both midshipmen, skylarking under the disapproving but indulgent eye of their superiors. But Bush and Horatio had never been midshipmen together; even their brief time as lieutenants serving on the Renown had been overshadowed by Sawyer's erratic whims. 

Instead of losing his dignity in the eyes of his men by behaving beneath that which his captain's epaulette required, he simply allowed his eyes to soften and his lips to twitch slightly. Bush, as always, seemed to read him perfectly, grinning his thanks as he accepted the towel. Hornblower kept his eyes firmly on those parts of Bush that his uniform exposed: face and hands. Bush, easier with the crew than Hornblower was, merely stood comfortably on the quarter deck as he wiped the water from his face, his neck, chest, and-- Horatio's eyes snapped to the middle distance, just to the left of Bush's right temple. 

"A fine day," he said.

"A bit hot, wouldn't you say, sir?" Bush replied, conversationally.

"Have the deck swabbed when the men are done." The order was unnecessary and they both knew it. Bush did Horatio the courtesy of merely responding with an incline of his head. To respond more formally would be proper, but perhaps a bit impudent. Bush was an exacting officer and only willing to be informal when he felt his captain required it of him. 

"You will join me for dinner, Mr. Bush?" Horatio softened the statement at the barest hint of a question. Bush would not decline, he knew, but it was still a question. He was a poor captain and his stores more meager than those of the gunroom's. Dining with the captain of the Hotspur was not the honor it could have been. But Horatio had bought fresh lobster the day before with the French gold along with more information about troop movements in Brest. And there was butter from the fisherman's boat and fresh greens. It would be a feast, comparatively.

"It would be my honor, sir." Bush responded with a delighted grin. Horatio was embarrassed at how easily pleased he had made Bush and berated himself for allowing his poverty to prevent him from inviting Bush to dine with him more often. Bush was the only senior officer aboard, and yet spent his time in the gunroom with the purser, master, and mate -- instead of as he deserved, in a wardroom on a 74-gun ship with four other lieutenants.

Bush arrived for dinner at the start of the dogwatch. Doughty had done his best with the lobster and it was certainly a fine attempt if a bit wasted on Hornblower and Bush. Horatio had directed him not to attempt a sauce, but simply to serve the melted butter on the table for dipping, knowing that Bush's tastes like his ran to the simple. The captain's room was small and there was no room to sit at the table as the door opened. Horatio stood as Bush entered the room before he shoved the table back enough to cram his single chair between his hanging bunk and the table. Bush pulled Horatio's sea chest and sat down as he had done in the past. Their knees knocked together. It was well that dinner was sparse as there was hardly room on the table for two plates.

"And how is Mrs. Hornblower?" Bush asked.

"She is well," Hornblower replied. Her latest letter lay open on his pillow. No doubt Bush had spied it. 

The conversation continued on, stilted for a bit, before the awkwardness faded as if it had never been there and the two friends fell into an easy conversation, relaxed further by the two glasses of red wine Horatio had indulged in. Bush had shared the wine as well and had managed to somehow prop himself against the wall and the table, stretch out his legs, and loosen his cravat.

Horatio looked at him, bright and happy, and thought of the way he had looked turning about in the rush of water on the deck that afternoon. He thought of Bush's broad chest, dark with curly hair, his strong arms, muscled by the work of the sea, of his legs, his--. He cut the thought off, but Bush was smiling at him - eyes twinkling - as if he knew exactly what Horatio was thinking.


End file.
